The Scar
by godblessthefandom
Summary: What's your best scar story? Brittany S. Pierce has one you might enjoy. T for some language. Brittana ficlet.


Santana didn't see the dog until it's too late.

Of course, how could she have noticed? Brittany had been giving the kitten kisses for the last ten minutes, Santana couldn't have torn her eyes away if she wanted to.

They were laying in the grass, Santana hugging her knees at Brittany's side, while Brittany played with the kitten on her chest.

The dog must not have been paying attention either. Her owner said later that she'd seen a squirrel and went full tilt after it, breaking away from the leash and barreling through the park with her eyes focused on her prize.

Santana heard the panting in time to look up and see the dog at Brittany's feet. She didn't even have a chance to yell before it tumbled across her, rolling her and the kitten into a jumble and down the nearby hill.

Later, she would kick herself for letting Brittany talk her into this stupid pet adoption fair. These things were at best unregulated, and at worst dangerous. But it was a beautiful day, and Brittany had pouted, and there was nothing she wouldn't do for Brittany if she pouted. And that little fact was exploited by her wife at every opportunity.

Santana was on her feet in an instant, racing after them. Her heart was in her chest as she reached the fallen group, the dog shaking itself and getting wobbly to its feet, while its owner called from up the hill.

She skidded to a halt besides Brittany, falling to her feet, and turning her over in the grass. There was blood everywhere. Brittany's face was covered in it, and it was trailing down the side of her face into her hair. The golden locks slowly becoming a deep red.

"Brittany! Baby, please. Somebody call 911!"

Santana was panting, gazing down at Brittany, and murmuring reassuring words into her ear. A second later Brittany popped open an eye, the light blue the most beautiful thing that Santana had ever seen.

"Is the kitten okay?"

Santana had no idea what she was talking about for a moment, and then looked down at Brittany's hands, still clutched closely to her chest. Her hands spread, and Santana saw a little orange head poke out from between them.

"Yes, Britt Britt. She's fine."

The words came out garbled and broken, as Santana spoke through her tears.

Brittany opened the other eye, furrowing her brow. "It's okay babe, everything's okay."

\

Fifteen stitches.

The doctor said it would take twelve, but Santana counted and there were fifteen. After the ambulance arrived, and drove them to the hospital (Brittany seemed to take some comfort in having the kitten close, so Santana promised they'd fill the paper work out later and demanded she be let into the ambulance), Santana stayed right by Brittany's side the whole way. Even when they'd had to have that weird, married lesbians conversation so she could be allowed in Brittany's room.

Santana had taken to holding the kitten, so the paramedics and then the nurses could shuffle around Brittany and clean her up, checking her head for wounds and making sure she hadn't broken anything. In the end she had a few bumps and bruises, some nasty grass stains, and an inch long gash on her chin.

"Santana, darling, you look like you're going to throw up."

Santana was standing at the window, looking out into the streets below. Though the sun was low in the sky, it was still light enough for children to be playing in the streets, lovers walking holding hands, teenagers laughing and shoving each other on the sidewalks.

At Brittany's words, Santana looked over at her wife; still a little pale from the blood loss, still a little woozy from the pain pills, and walked over to her, setting the kitten down to play at her feet, and climbing onto the bed.

She took Brittany's hands in her own, careful not to disturb the wires that were coming off the back of one of them, and pulled those hands to her lips.

"I was so scared."

"Oh, San…"

"You were laying down there at the bottom of that hill, and you weren't moving, and then I flipped you over, and there was blood everywhere…"

Santana can't finish. She's too wrapped up, too emotional. If anything Brittany should be the one on the verge of tears, her face probably hurts like hell, and she's been in a hospital gown for the better part of three hours. But, as usual Brittany is an actual ray of sunshine, and pulls Santana into her arms, cooing gently.

"It's okay, San. I'm here, and I'm okay."

"But your face, Britt!"

"I think it's kind of cool, actually."

Santana sniffs a few times and looks up at Brittany with a question on her face.

"Cool?"

"Yeah. Bad ass, like a pirate."

Santana only smiled, leaning forward to gently kiss her wife's chin.

\

"So, then, the rope snaps, you know? And Santana's all like, 'Look out beloooowww!', and I'm thinking, there's no way we're going to get them pulled up in time."

Brittany stood at the bar, with the attention of about 20 of its finest customers. Granted, most of them were pretty drunk, but she was spinning a good yarn. Santana couldn't help but smile as she watched her wife talk. It had been a couple of months since the incident at the park. Brittany had gotten her stitches out, but the scar that remained was a bit, well, gnarly. It was pink against her pale skin, and though the job had been neat and discreet, it was still noticeable to anyone who was paying attention.

While at the bar, celebrating Brittany's first successful dance review with her new company, one of the newer dancers had asked about it. Santana had been around several times when someone asked Brittany. She'd always smile as her wife came up with another fantastic tale about how she got the scar.

Today, it seemed that she and Santana had saved a group of orphans out of a ski lift in the French Alps. Though, Santana was a bit confused. Most of the orphans had been saved, and Brittany still hadn't managed to explain how she'd gotten a cut on her chin.

"So, I'm yanking on the rope, just pulling as fast as I can, but time is running out. And finally, at the last possible second, I tie it around a tree, and it holds fast. Then we pull all the rest of the kids up one at a time."

Most of the drunker patrons seem amused and satisfied. But there are a few who were late to the party, and are only a few beers in.

"But, the scar, Britt. How'd you get that?"

Santana sees that this question actually comes from Mike, who's wearing the biggest grin on his face. He's probably heard new variations more than Santana, considering he and Britt work together.

"Oh, so, after we get the nuns and the orphans saved they start thanking me and my 'friend'. So, I say, 'That's not my friend, that's my wife.' One of the nuns starts losing it, and saying we're going to hell, so I clocked her. Well, that pissed the other nun off, and stuff just started going crazy. I believe some of them had brass knuckles now that I'm thinking about it."

The whole bar burst into laughter. Those who didn't know she's lying think it's hilarious that the number one dancer in the company, Brittany S. Pierce-Lopez, got into a fight with some nuns. Those who knew she was lying just think it's funny that the drunk ones believe it.

Santana was having fun, but she'd started to feel a little crowded, so she took that moment to go outside for some fresh air.

She was only out for a few moments before she heard the door opening behind her. The person walked up behind her closely, and she could feel their breath on her neck. She didn't have to turn around to know it was Brittany.

"Sick of hearing the amazing 'Scar Story', San?"

Santana smiled, and shook her head. "Of course not. It's better than the real story. Better than you telling everybody that I cried all the way to the hospital, and then some more when they were sewing you up."

"Aw, babe." Brittany said, wrapping her arms around Santana. "You were just worried. I totally understand."

Santana laughed again. "I know, I know. But that doesn't mean that I want everybody to know about it."

They stood for a moment longer, Brittany's arms wrapped around her wife, before Brittany cleared her throat. Santana knew that sound. It meant that her wife had something to say, but wasn't sure how to say it. It didn't happen very often, but when it did, Santana wanted to give the matter her full attention.

Turning gently around, Santana lifted Brittany's chin so she would look her in the eye.

"What's wrong, Britt?"

Santana could see the tears forming in her wife's eyes and went from concerned to alarmed.

"Britt-?"

"Am I ugly now, Santana?"

The question came out in a hiccup, and it was a moment before Santana knew how to respond.

"I mean, I don't really worry about it, right? It's an awesome, kick ass scar, but my face… it's not the same as it was before."

Santana quickly leaned forward and pressed her lips against her wife's, pressing their bodies close as well, until they were flush against each other.

"Do you want to know what I think, Brittany?"

Brittany nodded, sniffling gently.

"I think you're the most beautiful woman that I've ever met. And you only get more beautiful every day. I think that yes, this scar makes you bad ass, but it also makes me remember all the reasons why I love you. The main one being that you let yourself get hurt before you'd let harm come to another living creature."

She kissed Brittany on the forehead.

"It makes me think about the fact that you held my hand and let me cry, even though you were the one bleeding everywhere, and about to pass out."

She kissed Brittany on her left cheek, and then her right.

"I think it reminds me of all the reasons why I married you, and why I'm so happy to have you in my life."

She kissed Brittany on her chin, right where the scar stood out from the white skin there.

"You are gorgeous, Brittany Susan Pierce-Lopez, and that will never change."

Santana placed a final kiss on Brittany's lips. This one gentler, but with the same passion smoldering under the surface.

"Plus it makes me look like an awesome UFC fighter?"

"Plus it makes you look like an awesome UFC fighter."

Brittany did a little fist pump and twirled around, taking Santana with her.

"Well, then let's get back to the party! I'm going to tell them how I broke my arm going for the long jump record in Beijing."

"Hon, we've never been to Beijing."

"Well, they don't need to know that." Brittany said, winking conspiratorially.

Santana only laughed, wrapping her arms around her wife as she led them inside.


End file.
